


The Dandelion and the Rose

by Nehasy



Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: Child Soldiers, Getting to Know Each Other, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Pre-Series, Trapped, improper use of mini energist bombs, life threatening injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehasy/pseuds/Nehasy
Summary: A mission goes wrong, leaving Guimel trapped and having to deal with a seriously injured Dilandau





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Vision of Escaflowne or the characters. Don't sue please.  
> this is in response to a prompt from drkstars who challenged me to write about Dilandau having to learn about the hobbies of the Dragonslayer he liked the least. I tried to write seven different versions of this. Most were actually lighthearted involving Dilandau being ordered by Folken to start treating his men like human beings... but they just kept devolving into arguments. Then I hit on this one. It's darker, much darker, but I like it and I might redo the other versions either as an AU or just make them into a whole new story.  
> Dragon in the Ashes universe, pre series. They've only been a team for a month.

                “Die Zaibach dogs!  You’ll never take us alive!” The rebel leader yelled out as he threw a strange looking cylinder towards the approaching troops.  Two men in the front of the line stared down at it, suddenly unsure of what to expect as the small tube began to shudder violently and a strange blue glow emanated from either end.

                For half an instant, the world seemed to hold still, all sound stopped and there was a strange pressure in the air, as if the very planet itself was holding its breath in anticipation.

“Look out!”  Dilandau yelled as the glow flared into a blinding light, throwing everyone violently backwards.  One of the soldiers who’d had the misfortune to be standing in front of him slammed into the wall overhead, his body torn apart by the force of the blast.  Half of another soldier slammed into the captain, knocking him into a nearby Dragonslayer, both of them landing on the ground, the breath knocked out of them.

All around were the screams of panic and confusion, but over that was a strange and ominous rumble.  Silvery white hair stood up on the back of the captain’s neck as every instinct screamed at him to get the hell out of the cave.  Dust filled the air making it difficult to breathe and almost impossible to see, but he knew in his heart that his men were still here, still in danger.

“GET OUT!”  He screamed over the chaos, knowing without a doubt that his men would react immediately even as the rest of the contingent still milled about in confusion.   Folken might grouse about how hard he was on them all, how utterly ruthless, but it was moment’s like this which validated every single slap and brutal training session.  So long as his men heard his voice, they’d leap to obey without question. 

Though he couldn’t see anything clearly, he could make out several slender figures pushing their way through the panicked throng, pushing their own allies aside as they ruthlessly sought to fulfill their captain’s orders.  It made him some of the tension inside him ease, allowing him to focus on his own immediate survival.

Something was building, something terrible and deadly, he could feel it crawling through his awareness, demanding that he take action or die.  The brutality of his life had taught him never to question these instincts and without hesitation, he summed up every ounce of strength he had, kicking aside the shattered remains of the soldier on top of him.  Slick meaty weight slid off of his legs, freeing him to move even as another panicked soldier kicked him hard in the side, stumbling over his supine form.  Air was blasted from his lungs and he was pretty sure a rib had been cracked.  Still, he grabbed onto whichever one of his men he was currently on top of and dragged them bodily towards a small alcove he remembered seeing.

“Move it soldier!”  He screamed at the Dragonslayer, shocking them into helping him along.  Even as they began to move, that ominous rumbling quickly grew into a deafening roar.  Visibility dropped to nothing as the air was filled with debris.  Rocks fell from the crumbling ceiling as the initial blast weakened the precarious balance of thousands of tons of rock.  As more rocks fell, the structure weakened further until in a single terrifying moment, the entire world seemed to collapse around them.

The Dragonslayer stumbled as Dilandau threw them forward, doing his best to shield the soldier from falling debris with his own body.  Several heavy stones hit his shoulder guards, jolting his body violently from one side to the other, driving him to his knees and he felt a heavy impact of something striking his back, missing his spine by inches.

Then… then there was silence; an eerie oppressive silence which really didn’t bode well at all.

“What… what happened?”  A frightened voice asked softly before dissolving into a series of deep coughs as lungs fought to clear themselves of several pounds of inhaled dust.

“Cave in.”  He replied as he licked his dirt encrusted lips, frowning at the taste of blood.  “Can you reach your E-pack?”  Each Dragonslayer had a survival pack attached to their belt when they weren’t actively in their Alseides units.  Dilandau had always made it a point for his men to be prepared for all occasions.  It was one of many harsh lessons he had been thankful for learning. 

“Yeah… I think so.”  The voice belonged to Guimel, one of the smallest Dragonslayers as well as the most mouthy and opinionated; at least when he thought he was out of the captain’s range of hearing.  It was fortunate that he was damn good at piloting his guymelef or Dilandau would have tossed him off the catwalk of the Vione weeks ago for his attitude.

There were some sounds of shuffling and a knee hit the pale captain in the ribs, forcing him to hiss sharply as pain flared down his back at the sudden movement.  At the sound, the blonde Dragonslayer froze.  It was likely the first time he’d ever heard his captain make any concession to pain.

“Are… are you alright sir?”  The voice was hesitant and laden with enough fear that Dilandau wanted to slap the curly haired soldier.

“Just get the damn light stick!”  He hissed through the pain.  Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, his entire back felt as if it was on fire and every breath was agonizing.  Lights danced behind his eyes, seeming to coalesce into a single blinding point just like the lights in the Madoushi labs.  He could almost feel the chill of the table pressed against his stomach as he stared at that blinding reflection, trying to lose himself in it as his vile masters cut him open again and again.

Bile rose up in his throat as he struggled to fight down his terror, flexing his hands several times to prove that he could still move, that he wasn’t restrained like an animal… like a thing.

A sharp click pulled him out of his waking nightmare as he was blinded by a brilliant blue light.  Hissing sharply and blinking several times, he covered his face with his hands, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to the light before carefully lowering them.

Guimel was a mess.  His usually golden blonde curls were dull grey and so thickly layered in dirt that they more closely resembled a dirt helmet than actual hair.  A dense layer of dust settled on his entire body, leaving only the brilliant sapphire of his eyes free to shine and in the blue light of the energist crystal, they practically glowed.  A faint trickle of blood traced a path from his eyebrow down his cheek, drawing a dark line down the still youthfully rounded features of the soldier, though thankfully it was only a superficial wound.

“Any injuries to report?”  He found himself asking, his normally silken smooth voice sounding rough from the amount of grit he’d inhaled.  For a moment, Guimel didn’t answer him, still obviously shocked over what had just happened and how narrowly he’d missed death.  “Soldier!”  Dilandau snapped, forcing those somewhat glassy eyes to focus on him.  “Injuries?”

“N..no sir.”  Guimel sounded almost apologetic, as if he’d somehow disappointed his captain by not being grievously wounded by such a spectacular disaster.  “Just some bruising.” 

Dilandau grunted softly and pushed his own pain down so that he could focus on their immediate environment, wanting to see just what they had to work with.  Sadly, it wasn’t much.  The small alcove had saved them from being crushed to death and a rather large rock had fallen at just the right angle against the entrance to keep the worst of the debris from piling in and smothering them, but it didn’t leave them with much room to move and no room at all to begin to dig their way out.

“Is your beacon in your E-kit?”  The captain asked, blinking away a strange wave of dizziness that threatened to pull him back into that nightmarish lab.  Gritting his teeth, he forced the darkness back to the edges of his vision and continued to stay crouched down on the uneven ground, not quite trusting himself to stand. 

“Of course sir.”  It made the young captain smile slightly at how indignant Guimel sounded at the question, as if he wouldn’t be caught dead without his emergency kit fully stocked and ready for a surprise inspection.  He even held it up for Dilandau to see, as if he might somehow question its existence without proof.  At Dilandau’s nod, the young slayer depressed the switch that activated it and the compact little cylinder began to flash and beep softly, transmitting their coordinates back to the Vione as well as the Dragonslayers radio frequencies. 

“You should activate yours as well sir.”  Guimel murmured gently, clearly loathe to give the volatile captain anything that might be construed as an order but knowing that it was the proper protocol.  Dilandau simply nodded his head absently and began to lift his arm to reach for his pack but another wave of blinding pain tore through him, leaving him gasping desperately for air and somehow laying on the ground with stars dancing in his eyes. 

“Sir!”  Guimel was yelling, his face a perfect picture of panic.  “Oh gods… oh gods… sir don’t die on me!”  Dirty hands fluttered over him as wide eyes struggled to take in too much information at once.  While it might be amusing to watch under normal circumstances, panic in a situation such as this would do nothing but get them both killed.

“Calm down before I hit you.”  Dilandau ground out, tasting more blood in his mouth as he tried to sit up and failed.  “Help me up.”  Though he loathed having to ask for help, he hated being sprawled out on the floor even more.

“Sir… your back…”  Guimel sputtered, barely coherent in his fear.  “It’s… it’s…”

“Yes, it’s injured.  Broken ribs I believe.  Something hit me just before we got into the cave.  It missed my spine, that’s what’s important.”  Honestly, he was going to make his men serve some time in the infirmary to get them used to the sight of injuries if this is how they reacted.  It simply wasn’t acceptable at all. 

“Sir… I can see your ribs…Your back is sliced open and I can see the bones… you’re bleeding sir… badly.”  Oh… that would likely explain the dizziness and the steadily growing disorientation.

“Then we need to clean the wound and stop the bleeding.”  He replied calmly, fixing ice cold crimson eyes on fearful blue, forcing his will to overpower his underlings.  “Get your first aid kit out.  We need to rinse the wound as much as possible then apply a pressure bandage before I bleed out.”  At least there weren’t any veins or arteries that would have been cut, just muscle and skin.  He could handle that.

“But sir…”

“Look Guimel.”  He growled softly.  “I am utterly out of fucks to give about anything you have to say unless it’s to agree with the orders I just gave you.  So either you tell me Yes Sir, or I see how long it takes to strangle you to death before I bleed out.  Is that understood?”  The blonde head nodded, eyes wide with shock.

“Now reach into your bag and pull out the water pack.  We’ll save mine for drinking in case we’re here for a while.”  Again he fixed the soldier with an uncompromising glare, waiting for his expected response.

“Y…yes sir.”  Guimel stated, his eyes lowering as he pulled out a small water bottle from his pack.  “Um... it’s not much… there’s an awful lot of dirt in the wound sir.” 

“Did I ask for your opinion or give you an order?”

“Order sir.”

“Then why aren’t you doing what I ordered?”  He watched pitilessly as the Dragonslayer uncorked the bottle of water and shifted so that he was next to the captain.  It was hard to hold himself still knowing that he was hurt and someone was standing too close to him, but he made a concentrated effort to keep his hand away from his sword.  With luck, they could get through this without further injury.

“What’s taking so long?”  He snapped, loathing the anticipation of the pain he knew he was about to experience.  Again, the Dragonslayer edged back, practically radiating nervousness.

“It’s… it’s going to hurt sir.”

“No shit.”

“I just… please don’t kill me sir.”  It was nice to be feared like that, though perhaps a tad inconvenient given the circumstances.   Before he could do anything to reprimand his subordinate, he felt blazing fire etch itself down his back, causing him to suck in breath sharply and force his mind to cut his back off from conscious thought, rising above the pain as he focussed on simply breathing.  It was a technique he’d learned under his Masters cruel care and it served him well yet again.

“I just moved the leather away from the wound… I’m going to rinse it now.  Are you ready sir?”

“Just.Do.It.”  Every time the blonde talked, it pulled him back into his battered body and he was quickly growing tired of the experience.  Worse, his vision was really starting to spin and the light-headedness was quickly growing to be disorienting. 

Bracing himself did little to lessen the raw agony which tore through him as the worst of the grit was washed away from the wound.  However, there was no doubt several chunks of rock embedded in his flesh, not to mention the whole broken ribs issue.  He needed medical attention badly before one of the bones pierced his lungs.

In, out.  In out… in out… as much as he wanted to take deep breaths, he couldn’t risk making his condition worse, in fact, even moving was likely a stupid idea, meaning that he was going to be stuck laying on this rather uncomfortable floor like an invalid.  Yeah… focus on his anger rather than the pain.  That should keep him going!

While the horrible mind searing burning didn’t exactly stop, it did seem to lessen slightly, granting him awareness of his surroundings once again as Guimel shifted away for a moment before fiddling with something in his bag.  Moments later, something pressed against his back and didn’t move.

The pressure on his broken ribs was agony and he wanted to scream more than anything, but he swallowed it back until little more than a soft whimper edged past his lips and his fingers dug into the stone beneath him.

“I’m putting pressure on the wound sir.  Try not to move… I don’t know if you have internal damage.”

It hurt too much to manage any sort of reply.  All he could do was breathe and try to focus on something beyond that.  Vaguely, he was aware of Guimel reaching into his own E-kit and activating his beacon, letting the team know that their captain was still alive.  This might or might not hasten their efforts in rescuing them, it depended if they held a grudge against him for the whole sicking the wild dogs on them thing.

They sat in silence for several long minutes.  Guimel was focussed on keeping a steady pressure on the gaping wound and Dilandau doing his best to keep conscious and breathing.  Both were becoming an ever increasing challenge.

“How are you doing sir?”  Guimel finally asked when he began to get worried over the growing pallor of his captains already inhumanly pale skin.  “Talk to me?”

“Can’t …talk you m-moron.”  Dilandau whispered softly only to begin coughing.  Both pretended not to notice that he spit up blood as he did so.  Great… a lung was punctured.  He was drowning in his own blood… how pathetic.

“No problem!  I’ll talk for you!  Is that ok?”  He waited for some sort of assent but all Dilandau had the energy to do was huff softly, shooting the Dragonslayer a dark look.  The next time he went on a mission without his guymelef, he was packing a bottle of vino in his E-kit.  Regulations be damned.  Here he was, drowning in blood, trapped in a cramped cave with a babbling Dragonslayer.  Facing it all sober was just the final kick in the nuts.

“I… I know you don’t like me much.”  Guimel continued, smiling slightly despite himself.  “Not that you really make any attempt to hide it.”  The blonde chuckled softly, remembering all of the times he’d been slapped, or punched or otherwise called out for half a hundred mistakes and slights.  The list was long and painful, but it was all overshadowed by one single act.  “Still… if it hadn’t been for you, I’d be dead right now.” 

That caught the captain’s attention; not so much the words, but the gratitude behind it.  It wasn’t a tone of voice he was familiar with at all and he found himself watching his subordinate curiously.

“You could have just run into here on your own, likely would have been faster.  But you grabbed me, you got me moving even though I didn’t know what direction was up or down… then you stood over me… protecting me.  You got that wound because of me… and I… I… no one’s ever done that before for me.”  He had to stop for a moment, blinking his eyes rapidly as he struggled for composure.  Taking several deep breaths, he glanced down at his captain, noting the look of utter bafflement on the albino’s face.

“I mean it… I bet you think that I’m just some soft academy kid who’s never had to work hard a day in his life, and you’re right, I am.  I joined the Academy because I didn’t want to be some nameless faceless goon on the battlefield.  I mean look at me, I’m the runt of the litter.  That’s what mom always called me.  She said that I’d most likely end up dead on my first battle, but at least she’d get a grievance pension out of it.  All my brothers and sisters were huge strapping poster children for the military, and there were a lot of them.  Mom figured that her part of the war effort meant breeding soldiers, and she was pretty damn dedicated.”  He sighed softly at the memories of the cramped house, the endless stream of abuse both verbal and physical… the eternal sense of failure and never measuring up against his siblings.  He’d been the brains to their brawn, using guile and intellect to avoid the worst they threw at him and before he’d actually been of age to enlist, he’d gotten himself a fake registry card and taken the Academy tests. 

It had been the most stressful time of his life and every waking moment during the testing week, he’d been convinced that his parents were going to show up and haul him back to that little dead end house, or worse, send him into the infantry with his siblings.  Learning he’d not only passed but qualified for their elite program had been a godsend and he’d taken it as the one single chance he’d ever get to make something out of his life.

“When you showed up at the Academy, I saw a chance I never thought I’d have.  The Academy gave me hope but you… you gave me a future… ‘course you made me work for it in ways I never thought possible.”  A smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at his captain who was still watching him curiously, his breaths shallow and pained, but eyes still attentive.  It impressed the blonde how tough the other teen was.  He hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint and even though he had to be in utter agony, he was treating it all like nothing worse than a pulled muscle.  Guimel knew that there was no way he’d be this calm over the whole thing.

“I… I know I didn’t always act grateful for what you did… Alright, I acted like a brat and I called you a lot of things I shouldn’t have, but you still kept me on and you still kept pushing me to be better.  It’s only been a month, but I’ve already seen and done things I never thought possible!  And I know that I owe you that… and now… you saved my life…I don’t even know how to thank you for that or what to say that doesn’t sound all cheap and pathetic.”

Dilandau licked his lips with the tip of his tongue and tried to draw in enough air to speak.  It hurt like hell and the blackness edged into his vision a little more, but he pushed it back with his usual iron will, refusing to surrender to something as paltry as a punctured lung.  He wasn’t ready to die yet.  He had a destiny to fulfill dammit!

“J…just keep talking.”  He ground out, his voice little more than a whisper.  Dammit, how long was it going to take the others to dig them out?  The Alseides should be able to tear their way through this mess in no time!

“Talking… yeah… about what?  I mean, I don’t want to bore you by going on about hobbies or anything like that.”  The unfamiliar word caught Dilandau’s attention and he used his curiosity to push back some of the fuzziness invading his mind.

“Hob ee?  What’s a hob ee?”  He was pretty sure he wasn’t pronouncing it right, but Guimel seemed to understand what he meant, at least he hoped he did, the guy looked more than a little confused.

“You know, hobbies.  Things you do on your spare time.  Shetsa reads, Dallet and Ryuun fiddle with spare parts… I swear one day those two will make a guymelef from scratch.  Me?  It’s stupid… My older brother Jared used to beat me up all the time over it, saying that it was useless and did nothing to help the Empire… but I still liked it.  It calmed me and made me feel like I was accomplishing something good.”  Guimel glanced away, clearly embarrassed, the thick layer of dirt hiding the blush colouring his plump cheeks.

“I garden… flowers mostly, though I can grow food too.  But I like flowers the best.  They smell so beautiful, and the colours are brilliant, they’re like living jewels growing up from the dirt. You see, there was never any colour in my neighbourhood, just the military posters on the walls… but one day in the market I found someone selling flowers.  Flowers of all things!  In the Capitol!  It was so crazy!  But I swear I stood there for hours, just breathing in their smell and losing myself in the colours.  The woman running the stall thought I was adorable and said that if I helped her sell some, she’d give me seeds as payment.  It was a good trade, and I spent the whole day working for her, bringing in customers from all over the market.

When she wasn’t dealing with customers, she took the time to explain about the flowers to me, how to water them, which ones liked shade and which liked the sun.  It was fascinating really and I ran back home and planted my seeds in the best places I could find.  Of course, my idiot siblings destroyed them when they started to bloom, said that I was wasting my time on stupid things when I should be training to be a good soldier.  They said that flowers weren’t going to win the war.” 

Guimel fell silent for several minutes, his hands clenched tightly into fists as he remembered how horrified he’d been to come home and find his precious gardens ruined.  The insults his siblings had levelled on him had cut deeply and he’d vowed that day to beat them, to become better than them in every way he could.  Thus began his campaign of terror against his tormentors. 

Sure they could all beat him to a bloody pulp, but he’d become adept at setting them against each other, or putting them in conflict with other, larger and meaner kids in their area.  Physical prowess wasn’t everything, but it still counted for something, and while he was never going to survive a direct assault against his family, his small and light build made it nearly impossible to catch him.  Who knew that his quick mind and quicker reflexes would be just the thing to help him pilot an Alseides guymelef or wield a sword with lethal precision? 

Still, deep down inside, he missed his garden and the living jewels that had flourished in the dark soil behind his house. 

“My favourite were dandelions.”  He continued thoughtfully.  “I know they’re a weed, but they were so bright and almost nothing killed them.  Even when my youngest brother dug up the garden and tore out all the flowers, the dandelions came back just as bright yellow as before.  I sort of wanted to be like them.  Defiant, in your face and surviving no matter what got thrown at them.   You tear one up, and another just pops up somewhere else.  I sort of always saw them as the flower of Zaibach.  You can step on us, grind us into the earth, but we’ll rise up again, stronger and better than before!  Heh… well, I don’t suppose that dandelions get stronger or more badass the more you hurt them, but they certainly never back down, and I suppose that’s what really counts right?”  Guimel smiled sheepishly and looked down at the ground, unable to believe that he’d just admitted to loving pretty flowers to his badass and more than a little psychotic captain.  When the albino was back up on his feet, he was pretty sure he was going to be ridiculed endlessly over it.  This wasn’t something he’d admitted to any of the others out of worry of being thought of as anything less than a big bad macho Dragonslayer.

“Sorry… I’m babbling… um… I mean, I love fighting with swords, and you’ve taught us so many new techniques!  And the guymelef!!  They’re amazing!”

“Roses.”  Dilandau murmured softly, struggling not to cough too deeply.

“Huh?  What did you say sir?”

“Roses… I… I like roses…just can’t grow anything to save … save my life.”

At first, Guimel couldn’t believe what he’d heard and he blinked several times but knew better than to ask the captain to repeat himself a third time, especially in the state he was in.  Still… roses.  He’d seen one once and remembered how beautiful and stately it was.  Deceptively delicate looking and as vibrantly red as the fresh blood which they could spill should anyone be foolish enough to try to grab one.  Yeah, he could see why the beautiful yet lethal captain would be drawn to them, but it was still a shock to hear.  The Captain was always talking about how he had no time for useless things, how everything had to have a purpose and that purpose had damn well better be the betterment of the Empire.  There were no exceptions to this rule… except apparently roses.

“One day I’ll have a garden again sir, and I’ll plant some roses for you if you’d like.”

Somehow, Dilandau dredged up a faint smile and nodded his head.

“Against the reg… regulations.”  He murmured softly, but there was an amused glitter to his eyes.

“Then if you get me some seeds, I’ll make sure that at every battlefield, in every country we fight in; I’ll plant a rosebush for you, so that Gaea will always remember that the Dragonslayers were there.”  It was hard to get the words out, they sounded almost like goodbye.  Apparently Dilandau thought so too because his eyes narrowed for a moment and he gave his head a weak shake.

“I’m not d-dying you …moron.  I’m …just… hurt.”

“I know sir.  You have to get me my seeds first.  So no dying until them.”

“No dying till then.”  Dilandau agreed, a smile tugging at his lips.  “Better… better plant a bush here.  Let them know… that we still kicked… ass.”

“Technically, they knocked the ceiling down on their own heads sir.”

“Fuck you Guimel.  I’ve had… a long day.” 

“Yeah… me too sir.  But… thanks for letting me live through it.”

“W…we’re a team.  Depend on … each other.  Can’t lose you guys.”  Dilandau murmured softly, his eyes drifting closed.  Unsure of what to do, Guimel simply sat there, keeping the pressure on the wound and watching the rise and fall of the captains ribs, praying for the rest of the team to dig them out.

“Just stay with us sir.”  He murmured.  “Give me a chance to pay you back for saving me.”  Sighing softly, he let his head rock back and listened to the silence, waiting for the sound of shifting rocks and the cries of his team. 

Any minute now….

He just had to be patient and endure.  If the dandelions could do it, so could he.

**Author's Note:**

> And so, Guimel goes from sort of loathing Dilandau to being the head of his fan club. Who knew that all it would take was nearly having half his ribs sheared off while trying to save the fluffy minion from certain doom?


End file.
